


Vortex

by ms_socko



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_socko/pseuds/ms_socko
Summary: They may not have figured out who the mystery attacker was yet, but Aleister insists he's fine.Velveteen Dream's got a creeping suspicion there's more going on, though.





	Vortex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



* * *

Dream’s never really been prone to bad dreams. Whether he’s just that in touch with his subconscious mind or he’s just lucky - and he’s inclined to favour the former -, his nights have been restful as long as he can remember. 

Which is why he’s momentarily confused when he starts awake in the middle of the night, with no clear memory of his dreams outside of a vague sense of dread. When he looks to his side, he sees Aleister’s freed himself from the covers. He isn’t moving around now, just lies preternaturally still with only twitches running through his fingers, but his frame is filled with tension and his expression is drawn. Something in Dream’s chest tightens at the sight, and he reaches out a hand to Aleister’s shoulder to wake him. There’s still some bruising showing between the lines of the tattoos - whoever attacked him in the Full Sail parking lot left their mark, and Dream stamps down a flare of anger at the thought - so he’s careful, gently pressing a hand on an unblemished section of skin He hears Aleister’s breathing change as he does, and sees some of the tension unfurl.

It may be the middle of the night, but the Velveteen Dream has standards to keep, and this wake-up call does not meet them. Dream grins and shifts his weight, leaning over Aleister and sliding his hand up the side of his ribcage, and presses a kiss to his neck, carefully grazing his teeth along the swirls of ink. He feels Aleister stir under him, and Dream slides his hand down, fingers skating along the waistband of his briefs.

He’s not even sure what happens at first; one second he’s in bed, pressed up against Aleister, and then he’s on the floor across the room, aching and shivering with leftover cold from the force that threw him into the wall. As he struggles to sit up and catch his breath, he can still feel the pressure of icy hands pushing him back. 

Dream wheezes, trying to get some air back into his lungs, then gasps, “Aleister?”

He hears Aleister gasp, and the second he moves, the pressure against him is gone. Aleister mutters something, and in the periphery of his vision, Dream thinks he sees shadowy shapes flow towards Aleister from all colours of the room. He blinks, and they’re gone - there’s just Aleister, sitting up in bed and staring at Dream. 

For a few moments, he’s frozen, staring at Dream scrabbling back to his feet like he’s looking right through him. Then, some sort of tension seems to break; he takes a shuddering breath and asks, voice hoarse, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Dream says, shoving the leftover adrenaline to the corners of his consciousness and trying for a smile. “Though I’ve got to say - I appreciate explosive reactions, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Aleister chuckles, voice sounding a bit strangled, and runs a hand over his face. Some colour is returning to his skin, though his fingers still have a tremble to them, and Dream decides to risk approaching. Aleister’s eyes track his movements as he walks back to the bed, but he’s looking at Dream like he’s expecting him to explode, so Dream sits down on the edge of the bed and waits. There’s a real temptation to fill the tense silence with words or to reach out and touch, but Dream figures he should give Aleister a moment, if only to avoid getting flung across the room again. He’s seen his fair share of things he hadn’t previously considered possible, over the course of months of sharing first a wrestling ring and then a bed with him, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Aleister do so involuntarily before. When Dream reaches out a hand to touch Aleister’s wrist, there’s a shock running through his fingers all the way to his spine, like he’s brushed his hand against electric fencing, and he flinches. Aleister looks up, startled, then closes his eyes and takes a few very deliberate breaths.

After a few seconds, he opens his eyes and reaches out for Dream’s hand. His fingers are cold, but it’s a relief to be able to touch. Dream figures this is his cue and slips back under the covers, running his hand from Aleister’s hand up to the side of his neck and leaving a trail of goosebumps on the way. 

“Nightmares, and with me in your bed,” Dream says gently. “Should I be offended?”

He’s very relieved when Aleister rolls his eyes, an expression he’s intimately familiar with at this point. “Not everything is about you,” he says, voice belying his amusement. He shifts to lean against Dream, resting his head against his shoulder, and sighs. 

“That’s never happened before,” he says. 

Dream runs his hand up and down Aleister’s spine, feeling him slowly relax under his fingertips. “What were you dreaming about?” He asks. He feels like he can remember flashes of _something_ at the edges of his memories, but Aleister just shakes his head.

“I don’t remember. I just saw…” He trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not important. It’s late, we should get some sleep.” 

Part of Dream wants to argue, this seems like too much of an anomaly to just forget about immediately, but he also doesn’t want to pry. He lets Aleister pull the covers back up and curls around him, finally giving into the urge to hold him. Aleister closes his eyes, the tension fading from his face, and if either of them has any more bad dreams Dream doesn’t remember them the next morning.

* * *

  
  


For a few weeks, Dream thinks everything is fine. Neither he nor Aleister have been woken up in the middle of the night, and while he’s seen Aleister pore over his notes and books with a serious expression a few times, he hasn’t noticed any unintentional instances of, well. Spookiness. They haven’t worked out who the attacker was, though, and that’s eating at him - _someone_ has to know what happened, but nobody seems willing to talk. He has the impression Aleister might remember more than he’s letting on, but every time Dream tries to bring it up Aleister’s expression turns stony, and Dream can’t bring himself to force the issue.

Physically, Aleister’s very close to fully recovered. Dream can’t really see any bruising anymore, he’s moving with a very close approximation of the blend of graceful and dangerous Dream’s gotten rather attached to, and as far as he can tell there’s no lingering effects from the blow to the head. He’s tense, though - too controlled to show much of anything outwardly, but Dream’s become quite good at reading him and something’s clearly on his mind. 

Well, if Aleister doesn’t want his help, at least Dream can attempt to provide an entertaining distraction. They’re in Aleister’s living room, and Dream’s finally managed to coax Aleister away from his occult studies and onto the couch. He’s never been sure why what Aleister does seems to require so much study, but apparently it does; Aleister’s even insisted Dream would be able to learn essentially everything he can do if he so chose.

The thought is actually kind of intriguing, but that can wait until another time. There’s more pressing matters at hand, he thinks, as he pulls Aleister in for a kiss. Insufferably, Aleister’s still arguing - “I need to figure this out,” he says half-heartedly, while conspicuously failing to actually pull away. He continues, ‘What if I lose control again and injure someone?” His fingers slip under Dream’s shirt, though, his fingers rubbing tiny circles onto the skin of his back, and Dream shrugs.

“Are you suggesting I can’t handle whatever you throw at me?” Before Aleister can reply, Dream shifts them around and Aleister lands against the couch cushions with a muffled _thud_ . Aleister raises an eyebrow, looking amused, then reaches for the buttons on Dream’s shirt. After an evening of behaving himself and watching Aleister read, though, Dream does not have the patience; he pulls it over his head and winces when he thinks he hears the tell-tale _plink_ of a button landing in the corner of the room. He turns his head to follow the sound, and as he’s staring at the floor across the room he feels Aleister laugh under him. 

“There’s something to be said for patience,” Aleister says, smile audible in his voice. 

“Oh, shut up,” Dream says, tugging Aleister’s shirt over his head. He kicks his own trousers off and tugs Aleister’s shorts down his hips when he lifts them. Dream brushes his hand along Aleister’s cock, just a brief tease, and Aleister groans, hips stuttering. His hands wrap around Dream’s midsection, pulling him in close before trailing down to his ass, and Dream leans down for a kiss. He tugs gently at Aleister’s lip ring with his teeth and slides a hand between them, wrapping it around both their cocks. Aleister gasps against his mouth, and Dream grins. He grazes his nails along Aleister’s thigh, and the entire room goes dark.

Dream freezes and tries to open his eyes, but it feels like they’re already open. It’s freezing cold all of a sudden, and he thinks he’s on his back, but when he tries to move he can’t. He tries to speak, but he can barely get enough breath as it is. His head is killing him all of a sudden, and there’s other points of pain - something rough digging into the skin of his back, and pressure on his arms where something is pressing him down. He tries to shake his head, to clear it a little, and he realises it’s fingers - someone is holding him down. He blinks up at them, but can’t make out their face - 

There’s a crackling noise and Dream feels a shock running through him. He flinches backwards violently, looking at faint red lines across his chest that feel like burns, then looks back at Aleister, who is looking at him with an expression of horror.

“I’m fine,” Dream says, pre-empting the question. “What was _that_? Is something happening to you? I might be able to help if you only -” Aleister’s frozen completely, and Dream forces himself to calm down. He slowly, deliberately reaches for Aleister’s hand, making sure he sees him do so, and raises it up to his own cheek when Aleister doesn’t respond.

“Please talk to me. I don ‘t know what’s happening, but I want to help.”

Across the couch, Aleister shivers, and Dream grabs a throw and wraps it around him. He can freeze for a minute; he’s still not sure whether Aleister needs his space right now. 

“It’s…” Aleister starts haltingly. “I keep getting flashes of the person who attacked me. It’s never anything more than glimpses, but -”

But those glimpses are apparently bad enough to try and burn whoever it was, Dream thinks. There’s a tug at his hand, and when Dream looks down he sees he’s clutching the blanket so tightly his knuckles have turned white. He makes a conscious effort to relax and lets go, feeling ridiculously relieved when Aleister wraps the throw around him as well.

“This helps,” Aleister says softly. 

Dream traces his fingers up and down Aleister’s wrist, feeling him slowly settle against him, and tries not to think of the fact that both times, this had happened when Dream had touched him.

* * *

  
  


Over the following days, Dream does his best to pry what happened out of Nikki Cross, but she’s about as helpful as she ever is. She just grins at him, laughter trailing her as she wanders off down the hallway. He similarly has no luck with Regal, who politely but insistently asks Dream to leave the investigation to him. Dream bites back an irritated comment pointing out how much progress Regal’s made so far, exactly. Instead, he leaves the office, frustration and powerlessness making it impossible to sit still.

Aleister, for his part, has clammed up completely. He seems to have decided that the easiest way to avoid accidentally hurting Dream is to keep him at arm’s length and won’t listen to any of Dream’s pleas pointing out that’s not sustainable. Dream sees him sometimes, flitting in and out of the Performance Centre to talk to trainers and physical therapists, but he never stops to talk to anyone else. Dream swallows his pride and actually tries calling or texting a few times, and while Aleister replies, he invariably says he’s busy working.

It all comes to a head when Dream manages to catch up with him when he sees him in a quiet corner of the PC, places a hand on his shoulder without Aleister noticing his approach, and hears a loud crackling noise. There’s sparks from overhead and the lights go dark as far as Dream can see. 

Dream pulls his hand away, cursing his own lack of common sense. “Hey, it’s just me,” he says, wincing at how unsteady his voice sounds. The light from the emergency signs is too faint to really see Aleister’s expression, but Dream can hear him sigh.

“Come with me?” Aleister asks, hesitant like he’s not sure what Dream will say. 

Which is ridiculous, of course. “Lead the way,” Dream says, deliberately stepping into Aleister’s space and brushing his fingers against his own. Aleister turns, striding through the hallways with purpose, and Dream follows.

They walk through the Performance Centre and out to the parking lot, which is also dark as far as the eye can see; despite himself, Dream’s a little impressed. He considers cracking a joke, but when he glances at Aleister his face looks so stony the words get caught in his throat. Instead, he asks, “Are we going somewhere?”

It’s dark out, Dream doesn’t even know how big of a swathe of the city Aleister’s managed to black out, but the moonlight catches Aleister’s eyes as he looks back at Dream. “I need to try something, before this gets worse and I lose control completely.”

That… sounds ominous. “Try what exactly?” Dream asks.

“There’s a ritual,” Aleister says. “I should be able to recover the memory, but it takes some time, and I’ll be meditating...” His voice trails off on the last phrase, but Dream mentally adds, _and he won’t be able to watch his own back if something happens._

That won’t do, so he nods. “Of course. Where are we doing this, your place?”

Aleister shakes his head. “Doing this in an apartment building might be unwise,” he says, wincing at the thought. “You’ve seen what can happen.” He suddenly looks exhausted, rubbing at his face with one hand. “There’s an abandoned church just outside the city,” he continues. “It should be far enough from everything to be safe.”

Dream quirks an eyebrow, unable to resist. ‘So we’re gonna drive out of town to do a magic ritual in an abandoned church. Is it necessary, or are you just looking to set the right ambiance?”

It’s too dark to see clearly, but he can _hear_ Aleister roll his eyes. Dream’s pretty sure he sees his mouth quirk as well, though, and the block of ice that seemed to have taken up residence in Dream’s chest feels like it melts a little. He follows Aleister to his car and gets in, taking advantage of the lights coming on to glance at Aleister’s face. He looks determined, like he’s made a decision he’s been putting off, Dream’s pretty sure there’s some serious tension right under the surface. Whatever is going to happen, he decides, he’s going to do what he can to keep Aleister safe.

The drive out of town takes maybe half an hour. Driving through almost entirely dark streets is disorienting, but Aleister seems to know where they’re going regardless. He drives them out of the city into what is probably a quite lovely wooded area during the daytime. Even at night it’s striking; there’s more stars overhead than Dream remembers seeing in a long time, probably a result of Aleister temporarily wiping out all the light pollution. 

They take a couple of turns into smaller and smaller roads, until Aleister drives into a glorified dirt track and Dream sees an abandoned church up ahead in the darkness. Aleister parks at the end of the track and grabs a bag from the trunk, beckoning Dream to follow him. “We’ll have to walk the last part; there’s not much left of the road here.” 

Dream spares a mournful thought for his shoes as he feels leaves and sand shift under his feet, but follows without complaint. It’s only a short walk, and when they get to the building Aleister pushes open the door like it’s his own apartment. 

When Dream follows and gets his bearings, his first thought is that this looks way more derelict than he’d thought he’d seen from outside. Part of the far wall has crumbled and almost all of the roof is gone; when he looks up, he can see stars and a bright half-moon overhead. Once his eyes adjust, he can see fairly well. Aleister’s flipping through one of his notebooks, setting out candles in a pattern that looks entirely random to Dream but which he assumes isn’t. He doesn’t see Aleister get out any matches, but he must have done, as all the candles are lit once he’s done placing them.

Aleister takes a deep breath and looks back at Dream. “Okay. Once I start, you might see the candles behaving oddly. That’s normal; just keep an eye out for trespassers. I don’t think we were followed, but I want to be sure.”

That wasn’t what Dream was worried about, really. “What is this going to do, exactly?”

“It’ll let me relive that night and see clearly what happened and who did it,” Aleister replies, sounding way too matter-of-fact for a suggestion like that.

Dream does his best to control his voice, but he still can’t keep the outrage out entirely. “Are you insane? I figured you’d just, I don’t know, see it from another angle or something, but are you seriously planning on reliving being attacked and left for dead?”

“It’s fine,” Aleister bites out. “I have to remember to understand, or I’ll keep hurting you by accident. That’s not worth it.” There’s desperation in his voice towards the end of the sentence, and when he speaks again, his voice is a whisper.

“Please help me do this.”

Dream takes a shuddering breath, then steels himself. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Do you need me to do anything?”

Aleister shakes his head. “Being here is enough.” He sits down among the candles, and closes his eyes. “This will only take a moment.”

The first thing Dream notices is that the flames flicker and change colour into a shade of white that looks too hot for a fire fuelled by candle-wax. There’s a breeze circling through the church, even though the air outside was entirely still, and it leaves goosebumps on Dream’s skin.

Then, with barely any warning, Aleister makes a strangled noise of pain that’s halfway through a scream and falls forward, clutching at his head. The wind picks up and Dream hears something being smashed into the wall behind him, but he doesn’t glance back; instead, he reaches for Aleister’s hand, entirely without thinking. He feels something jerk him forward from a place right behind his ribs, and everything goes black.

* * *

  


When everything stops spinning and he manages to open his eyes, he’s in the Full Sail parking lot. The city lights are working normally, and everything’s deserted apart from a noise to his left. He turns, and sees Johnny Gargano standing over a collapsed Aleister, blood dripping off of a stone in his hand. 

Instinctively, Dream tries to move forward, to grab Gargano, but he’s rooted in place - when he looks down at himself, he can see the ground through his feet. Dream remembers this being a cold night, but he can't feel anything now, not the chill or the breeze or the gravel he sees under his feet.

Of course. He was never actually here, he thinks, and feels something in his chest clench uncomfortably at the thought. 

There's a familiar voice; Aleister’s not entirely unconscious, it seems, and he says something, voice sounding muzzy and hoarse Dream’s not sure what he says to Gargano, but Gargano looks first shocked and then furious.

“You don’t understand,” Gargano says. “This is about me, not Tommaso, you -” Aleister mumbles something Dream doesn’t catch, and Gargano yells, “Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about.” 

He wraps his hands around Aleister’s throat, watching Aleister’s hands scrabble against his wrists and the pavement with a distant expression, and then shifts one hand to the button on Aleister’s jeans. Gargano starts tugging at his pants, peeling them down Aleister’s hips, and Dream tries with all his might to do something, _anything_ , but he can’t move.

Gargano is still talking, be it to Aleister or someone who he doesn’t even notice isn’t there, and Dream doesn’t give a shit what he’s saying - he pointlessly yells _don’t touch him_ , but there’s an odd echoing quality to his voice, and he feels stupid for f even trying. Some of the stones on the ground stir around Aleister's fingers, but they fall back down as Gargano pushes into him and smashes his head down against the ground. Aleister makes a soft, pained noise, clearly not having enough breath left to argue or scream anymore, and pushes feebly against Gargano's chest. Dream struggles against whatever's keeping him in place, but all he can do is watch. He's not even sure he technically has a body in here, but he still feels like he can't breathe, and desperately he calls out, "Aleister."

His voice sounds different that time. Gargano doesn't respond, but Aleister stirs slightly and looks right at Dream, and there's a sound like a plucked bowstring and everything shifts.

* * *

When Dream’s able to move again, his blood is roaring in his ears and his head is spinning like he’s been dropped on it. When he twitches his fingers, though, it’s oddly comforting to feel the ground shift under his fingertips. He’s very aware of his own body touching the ground, of bits of stone and sand digging into his skin through his clothes, but he’s so relieved that the weird floating sensation is gone that he can’t bring himself to care about the discomfort. 

There’s scraping noises at the edges of his awareness, and he does his best to pull himself together to open his eyes. There’s a stabbing pain behind his eyes when even the faint light of the moon and the stars hits his retinas, and he winces as he struggles to sit up.

When his head stops spinning and he can open his eyes without feeling like he’s about to pass out, he realises that the roaring sound wasn’t in his head after all. He’s in essentially the same position as he was earlier, sat on the floor with Aleister collapsed in front of him; they’re surrounded by collapsed candles and rubble, but immediately around them, the air is still. Outside of their immediate radius, though, there’s a storm raging. The wind is sending the dilapidated pews left scattered throughout the building tumbling and crashing along the stone floor, and when Dream looks around he can see masonry chipping off the walls and the ceiling. There’s a loud crash as rubble flies into a timber support beam in the corner. With a loud creaking sound a part of the roof that was still intact starts to come down and Dream scrambles to cover Aleister’s head as best he can.

When he leans over Aleister to try and keep him from being pelted with debris, he feels him flinch sharply. Aleister gasps and tenses, and the wind picks up even more. Dream hisses as a small piece of rock grazes his face, leaving a stinging cut behind. The creaking from the roof gets louder and louder, and Dream looks up to see cracks spreading through the few support columns that are still standing as they’re battered by air and stone.

For a moment, Dream tries frantically to think of a way to get them both out of the building, before he realises they’re in the eye of the storm.

Throwing caution out the window, he wraps his arms around Aleister. He leans down and calls Aleister’s name, barely hearing his own voice as it’s caught on the wind. He’s pretty sure he sees Aleister’s eyelids flutter, though, and Dream reaches out to take his hand.

“It’s just me,” Dream says, feeling his own voice break. “It’s safe, you’re okay -” 

Aleister’s eyes open, and then the air around them abruptly stills like time itself freezes. For just a heartbeat, everything hangs still in the air, then the moment breaks and everything falls. There’s a series of cracks as rock hits the floor and wood splinters on its way down, and a few seconds later it’s so quiet that all Dream can hear is own pounding heartbeat. 

With a pained groan, Aleister shifts out from under Dream and tries to sit up. Dream’s caught between trying to help and trying to give him space, and ends up half-falling backward before he catches his balance. Aleister’s arms are unsteady as he pushes himself to something resembling an upright position, trembling like he’s pushed his body beyond its limits. He takes a gasping breath, then glances up to look at Dream. He looks awful, face drawn in pain and skin so pale it looks grey in the moonlight, but once he catches Dream’s eyes his expression softens.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Aleister says, and there’s a note in his voice that sounds like an apology. Dream swallows around the bile in his throat and clenches his fists hard enough that his fingernails are digging into the skin of his palms.

He tries to say, _I’m glad I did_ , or _You shouldn’t have asked me not to_ , or _I’m so sorry I wasn’t there_ , but when he tries to speak he feels his own breath hitch and he can’t get the words out. He’s just staring dumbly now, which is about as useful as he’s been through this entire awful ordeal, and Aleister’s reaching out a hand to his face to comfort _him_. He grabs the hand and presses it to his own cheek, stubbornly ignoring the moisture he feels there, and closes his eyes. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he says, fighting to keep the tremble out of his voice. 

There’s a long silence, and when he opens his eyes again, Aleister shakes his head. “I’ll deal with this.” 

Dream really wants to argue, but as he takes in Aleister’s face, another thought is floating to the surface. “You knew what you’d find,” he says, hearing the anguish slip into his voice. Across from him, Aleister stares at the rubble-strewn ground, and Dream immediately feels his stomach sink. He reaches out a hesitant hand to Aleister’s shoulder. Watching Aleister tense like he’s bracing himself for a hit is like a punch to the gut, but when Dream stops, Aleister stares at him like it’s a challenge. Dream closes the distance and then holds very still for a few seconds, before Aleister shifts to let himself lean against Dream’s shoulder, exhaustion getting the best of him. 

His voice is low and rough when he speaks again. “I had some idea,” he says. Dream’s eyes burn at the resignation in his tone, and he clenches his jaw to force them to get their act together. He can fall apart when he’s alone, at some point in the future, but for now it’s not an option.

Aleister shivers against him, and Dream carefully wraps his arms around him, rubbing clammy skin to warm him when he doesn’t pull away. 

“Let’s go home,” he says, relieved his voice comes out steady. 

  


* * *

  


It’s late enough that you could plausibly make a case for it being early, and Dream can’t sleep. He’s spent the past three hours staring alternately at the ceiling, at the fluorescent lights on the alarm clock, and at Aleister, who’s sleeping soundly next to him. He’s been sleeping well, as far as Dream can tell, since he’d had the chance to kick Gargano’s head off in the Staples Centre; Dream wouldn’t say he’s _fine_ , per se, but whatever was festering seems to have been burned out and he’s slowly healing.

Dream, however, can’t bring himself to _absolve Gargano of his sins_. He’s pondered possible courses of action to take for a while now, but can’t see anything that would be effective enough. There’s a thought that’s been creeping at the edges of his mind, though, and at this hour, in the middle of the night, it inexorably floats to the fore. 

Carefully, making sure to not wake Aleister by accident, Dream slips out of bed and walks into Aleister’s living room. He does his best to not make a sound or accidentally tread on a cat, and when he gets to the desk in the corner, he switches on a small reading light and takes a deep breath. 

He rifles through Aleister’s stack of notebooks, picks out something that looks promising, and starts reading.

* * *


End file.
